


It's Quiet Uptown

by Fangirlingmanaged



Series: Even More Angst Nobody Asked For (AKA Bonus Content) [7]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Guilty Steve, Hurt Steve, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Angst, Steve Feels, Tony Angst, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, jesus christ guys, just feels everywhere, more like fucking wrecked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 16:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7446214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlingmanaged/pseuds/Fangirlingmanaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From Hamilton: "Every action has an equal opposite reaction."<br/>This... This is the reaction, Steve.<br/>Title taken from Hamilton as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Quiet Uptown

**Author's Note:**

> BECAUSE THIS SONG WRECKS ME ALL THE DAMN FUCKING TIME AND I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON'T FEEL THE FEELS THEN YOU HAVE NO SOUL ;-;

If there is one thing Steve knows about it is pain. It’s been a constant in his life from the moment he was born. More than the physical pain from all his ailments before Erskine’s serum. The pain he went through when watching his mother work herself ragged, watching her waste away before his eyes, the pain of living during the depression, the pain of seeing the way society viewed a single mother, an Irish woman, the pain of losing her… the pain of watching Erskine die in his arms, the pain of losing Bucky twice, the pain of being the man out of time, the pain of losing Peggy, _his only girl_ … he would have thought he knew it’s sting now.

He’s not even surprised when he finds out he was wrong.

He would go through everything again if it would keep the man in his arms safe. Whole. Steve hasn’t experienced pain like the utter shredding of his heart as he holds Tony’s trembling form in his arms. He hadn’t what true and unadulterated _heartbreak_ felt like until he had to keep a sobbing Tony from shattering like cracked china in his hands. His mind blanks out of things to do or say to make the man he loves, utterly and irrevocably, stop crying as though his whole world has been annihilated in front of his eyes.

 _What can you do?_ The angry voice that had been getting louder and louder since Tasha agreed to bring him back home snarled in his head. _Haven’t you done enough? THIS is on you, asshole. YOU did this. YOU did what everyone else didn’t; YOU brought the Invincible Iron Man to his knees, jackass._

“I’m sorry,” Steve chokes out. He doesn’t know if he’s talking to the voice in his head or the man in his arms but it doesn’t matter. It needs to be said. It needed to be said _months_ ago. It needed to never be a necessity. “I’m so fucking sorry, God, I am _so so fucking sorry_. Please, please,” he begs into Tony’s hair and that’s when he realizes he’s crying. That the trembling isn’t coming from Tony alone, but that Steve is tearing apart too. That the stitches he’d made in his heart were beginning to come undone every time Tony begged him to be real _for just a few minutes_ as if he’d accepted an irrevocable future where he lost himself in despair.

There was nothing he could say, he realized, there were no words or gestures that would make Tony snap out of the pit he’d fallen into. The best Steve could do is remedy where he had failed before. The only thing left to do was to _be there_ every time Tony fell and pick him back up. The only thing he could do was get his head out of his fucking ass and man up for Tony.

Steve tightened his arms around the smaller man and vowed on Sara Rogers’s memory to do just that.

                                                                                      ***

It had taken Sam and Clint grabbing his arms and bodily hauling him to his feet for Steve to snap out of his momentary hysteria. Looking at the plans to bring Bucky out of cryo and to enhance his metal arm had sent Steve’s mind reeling. The reality of what he had done in the name of “freedom” and what was “right” began to set in with a finality that almost broke him. He couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, but he understood one thing with clarity.

If he let Tasha walk away without him then he would lose everything. Everything and everybody that had become such an integral part of who he was since he’d been defrosted. He would lose everything. He would lose everything because if he let Tasha walk away then Tony was out of his reach forever and nothing else would matter after that. No letters or burner phones he sent would ever breach what he’d broken between them, and Steve could not allow himself to do that. The government wasn’t worth that, the team wasn’t worth that, his pride wasn’t worth it… hell, not even whoever Bucky was now or had been before the war was worth losing Tony.

“Your Highness,” he’d tried to say and hadn’t even cared that his pain was clear in his voice. Shit, let them all see him suffer. Let everyone see what once would have been humiliating to him because it wasn’t enough to atone for what he had done.

“James’s cryo chamber is set to reanimate him in two days’ time, Captain,” the other man said and there was a flash of brief disappointment in his eyes. Clearly, he thought Steve had made his choice. The reality of his choices just kept slapping Steve in the face at every opportunity now.

 _Too little too fucking late,_ the angry voice in his head hissed at him.

 _I know,_ the defeated part responded.

“And you have the plans to help him?” Bucky was still his brother regardless of what Steve had done. Bucky was still a victim, and if he was going to start putting things to rights then he needed to take care of his family. Every single one of them.

“I was forwarded the plans so that the doctors could study them and deem them fit to begin reintegration. As we said, that was the plan all along,” the tone isn’t accusatory, but the message is implied enough.

“So it works? You’d be able to help him?”

“Everything is in order for him to be brought back as swiftly and painlessly as possible,” the king asserted.

“Then I think you know how to reach the New Avengers Facility,” Steve said evenly. T’Challa’s eyes marginally widened. “I don’t believe I’ll be needing the burner phone anymore,” he said and managed to give a small smile to the king before he was swiftly making his way out of the room. He turned to look at his teammates and caught Scott and then Clint’s eyes. “You should go home. See your family. Tell them I’m sorry, for everything.”

Scott nodded, and Clint just looked back at him solemdnly. “And you?” he asked.

“I’m going to do the same with mine,” he vowed and the hope filled his chest fit to burst. Even knowing Tony wouldn’t forgive him didn’t deter him.

He was about to sprint out of the room when T’Challa’s voice caught his attention. “I’ve found that people can forgive anything, with the right incentive.” Steve nodded gratefully before running towards the hangar. He had a plane to catch.

He made it out of the palace and to the airstrip before something slammed on him from the side. Instinctively counterattacked the assault, but was not swift enough. Despite his heavier muscle, Natasha had him pinned to the ground with her Widow’s Bite at his throat before he could realize who he was. He was lucky he’d noticed before he flung him off of him. Instead, he laid there very still with his palms up and the backs of his hands touching the ground about his ears.

“What in the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” she snarled at him.

“Trying to catch a ride,” he told her as sincerely as he could. She didn’t believe her, not one bit, if the fire in her eyes or the way the bites got nearer his throat were any indication. It hurt, Christ if fucking _stung_ , but he wasn’t surprised. He’d done this to their friends, and now there was nothing more to do but swallow the pain and try to mend what he’d shattered.

“You have what you wanted,” she spat at him. If her voice broke at the end then neither of them said anything. “You got everything he could give you; what else can you possibly want?”

“Everything,” he answered sincerely and immediately regretting not clearing that up when he felt a shock go through his sternum. He gritted his teeth and continued. “I want to give him everything I was too much of a coward to give him before. I don’t deserve him; God, Tasha, nothing you do to me will ever hurt as much as knowing what I did to him does. If you killed me, right now? You’d be doing me a favor, Agent Romanov, because everything hurts so much _I can’t breathe._ Every time I’ve thought I was doing better I found myself not being able to think, and that was even before I knew what he’d done.” He let himself be vulnerable in front of her, let her see the utter despair in his eyes; let the whole fucking world see him shed rivers if necessary. It didn’t fucking matter if he couldn’t get to Tony. “Hell, Tasha, Tiberius fucking Stone deserves him more than I do, but I know him. You know I do, Tasha, you know he’s hurting. He’s hurting so fucking much, Tasha, and I can’t—I can’t just—I won’t let him keep hurting if I know I can make him feel better.”

“You’ll shatter him,” she says quietly. Her eyes are wet, and Steve exhales brokenly at the sight. He’s never seen her cry before. “You’ll finish him if you go and let him see you and then leave again. It’s cruel, Steve, it’s not right.”

“I’m not leaving him again, Natasha,” he says miserably even though he knows no matter how many times he says it nobody will believe him. Not after everything he’s done.

“Nothing’s changed!” she says vehemently.

“I have,” he tells her quietly. He’s been broken down and has been forced to see what he has become. It’s… it makes all the difference in the world.

“Everything that’s important to you is still here,” she tells him. She doesn’t even sound agree, just so fucking tired. So goddamn resigned. It chips away at Steve’s heart.

“I had everything when I was in the states, Tasha, I had everything when I had you and the team, and _him_ ,” he slams his head against the concrete and shuts his eyes tightly. “I had everything even when Bucky was running from me because I knew sooner or later he’d find me. And I wrecked that. I wrecked everything because I was too fucking impatient and too much of a fucking hypocrite to ask for help. I know that, now, I know that now that it’s far too late to put things right. I can’t change a damned thing of what I did, but I sure as fuck can keep myself from hurting him.”

“I can’t,” she says as she slumps against his chest. Her hands fist on her shirt and he risks a hand to grab her left and try to sooth her. “I can’t let you see him, Steve. He won’t survive it. It’s too much. Goddamn it, Steve, it’s been enough!”

“I know,” he says brokenly. His finger shake where they grip her hand. “It’s more than enough, but Tasha, please. _Please_ , I need to do this. I need to be with him. I need to make him better.”

“If I let you,” she says shakily, and he’s nodding before she has even finished. She glares down at him and grips his chin painfully. “If I take you with me, that’s it. You have one chance, Steve, _one shot_ to find all his pieces and put him together again. You can’t suddenly decide you can’t do it. You have to take _everything_ he throws at you and still be there when the dust settles, okay? It’s the least you owe him.”

“I am not throwing away my shot,” Steve vows to her. Their eyes meet and Steve hopes what she sees is enough to convince her. Still, just to be on the safe side, he says, “I swear to you, Tasha, I won’t.”

“He has a hearing in a few hours that I need to be present for,” she says as she finally gets off him. She doesn’t offer him a hands up, and he swallows down the disappointment. She’s doing this for Tony’s benefit, and he should remember that. They, too, have a long way to go.

“I thought that was over with?” he asks tentatively.

“It’s Ross’s sentencing,” she replies grimly, and Steve grimaces. “They’re trying to use Barnes’s records as the Winter Soldier to prove his innocence. Pretend like he was just doing his job.”

Steve trips on solid ground at the cruelty of fate. Not only does Tony have to find out that his parents hadn’t died in an accident, but he has to defend the man who had done it. Whether Steve had wanted to admit it or not, Tony had never met James Buchanan Barnes. He’d never known Tony. All he’d had were the stories from a father he hated to love, and a brief mention in official records. All he’d known was that Bucky had been Howard’s friend, and had killed him. All he’d known was that Bucky’s face was attached to the man who had murdered his _Mama._ And yet there he was, defending him for Steve’s sake. God, to think anyone would ever call him selfish.

“So he might walk?”

“Tony swore to him that he would regret ever messing with his family,” Tasha says in a hard voice. “The Mandarin is proof that nobody hurts those who are close to him without repercussions.”

With that she strode into the quinjet and set course for New York. She didn’t speak to him after that till she dumped him at the facility and told him she would bring Tony by later. Steve couldn’t even nod before she was gone. So he’d gone back to what had once been his room, the room he’d spent his last week in because he’d been too angry at Tony to share his bed, and laid down in his bed.

And then he broke down into great ugly sobs because the smell smelt not of him, but of oil and coffee, and metal and expensive cologne.

                                                                                      ***

He’d managed to resurface when the lights had gone on announcing the arrival of someone to the facility. He’d wiped his tears and willed himself to remain calm through the whole ordeal. _Whatever he says or does is justified,_ he told himself sternly, _whatever he says or does isn’t even enough._

He’d prepared himself for screaming accusations and curses, for punches or even repulsor blasts; he’d steeled himself against angry words meant to make him shatter or a repeat of what had happened in Siberia. What he hadn’t prepared himself for was Tasha’s glassy green eyes when she passed him by in the hall or for finding Tony, on his knees and with slumped shoulders, crying into his hands as though someone had shattered his heart.

 _Someone did_ , he reminded himself and found himself tearing up before he even reached his lover.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he choked out, and He didn’t hesitate. Couldn’t really help himself. Not when it was so damn clear that Tony needed someone, needed _him_ , and he was right there and everything was so fucking clear. He marched to his lover and hauled him into his arms.

The shorter man made a questioning noise, then nuzzled against his neck and stiffened. Steve braced for the onslaught of accusations and angry words, but none came. Instead, Tony seemed to come untethered in arms and _wailed_ into his shirt, his callused hands grabbing at any part of Steve he could reach. Chanting “oh my God, you’re not real. You’re not real, but please, _please_ ,” and Steve crushed him to his chest painfully. He willed the contact to make him believe, if not intellectually then at least instinctively, that Steve was there. That Steve was there and was never going to make the mistake of leaving him again.

Eventually, Tony tired himself out. When he stopped trembling, Steve peeked down worriedly at him to find his lover asleep in his arms. The wreckage was even more visible in the heavy bags under his eyes and the gauntness on his face than on his unkempt hair and thinner frame. Steve closed his eyes briefly, sent a prayer of forgiveness and begged for strength, and then raised to his feet with his lover cradled in his arms.

He hesitated in the hallway, not knowing if to take him to his room or what had once been _theirs_ , but as he began to move towards his old room the reality crashed down on his shoulders. He was running away; away from what they had been and what he had wrecked. If he wanted to make things right he had to start facing things head on.

Starting now.

So he took Tony to their old room and asked FRIDAY to turn up the lights a bit so he wouldn’t crash and send his man tumbling. She didn’t say anything, and Steve felt an irrational sob raise to his throat. God, he was choking up over computer programs now. But…. She wasn’t, was she? The same way DUM-E and the others weren’t just robots. The way JARVIS had been more than an AI. These… beings, they were Tony’s family. They were Tony’s _children_. He’d wrecked more than he could have understood. 

Deciding everything else was less important than the precious man in his arms, Steve deposited him on the bed and proceeded to undress him. He methodically took off the man’s jacket and tie, and then his belt and shoes. He ignored the trembling in his fingers at the ease with which his hands remembered the procedure. Something fell out of the jacket when he moved it aside, and he leaned down to pick it up.

He banged his head on the side table on his way up, and the top cabinet opened up a bit. He looked up to see the picture facing the bed, and his breath caught. It’d been taken on his birthday; one of the last days when things had been right. Tony had thrown his head back laughing at something Steve had said, and the blond was smirking down at him. _You look like you had hearts in your eyes, you sap_ , Tony had said about it. Catching the little pleased smile on the other man’s face, Steve had only leaned down to kiss him on the cheek and thought, _I still do._

Steve lowered his eyes to what he’d picked up, and found himself clutching the burner phone as if it’d burned him. And then his eyes fell to the inside of the cabinet. A flash of dark metal peaked his curiosity and he opened it, and the noise that came out of his throat was something he’d never heard himself make before.

Inside the cabinet was a handgun. Under the handgun, folded and refolded and beginning to tear, was a piece of paper Steve had penned a month before.

“Tony,” the soldier gasped out even though the other man couldn’t respond. “Tony,” he choked out again and recognize the panic attack for what it was but he didn’t care. He couldn’t give less of a damn about his shortness of breath as his hand grappled behind him to search for the man on the bed. His eyes remained locked on the _thing_ in the cabinet as his mind refused to accept what it meant.

His hand found warm, limp fingers and he grasped them. He slammed the cabinet shut, unaware of the sleepy noise his love made, and turned to see him. His eyes hungrily rove over his sleeping form, and he willed himself to see everything. To commit every single thing to memory and recognize that he was there. That he was alive, and solid, and so fucking broken. But no matter how much he drank the sight of him hungrily, the knowledge of that _thing_ being there didn’t go away.

With a broken “Oh, my God,” Steve fell to his knees behind the bed and grabbed at Tony’s hand with both of his. He leaned his forehead against his forehead and did something he hadn’t done since his Ma had been sick.

Steve closed his eyes, brought Tony’s fingers to his lips, and he prayed. That never used to happen before. He thanked God his lover was still around, and begged to find a way to put things back.

**Author's Note:**

> Can you imagine?


End file.
